Jhomanji
by Mrs. Terwilliger
Summary: Parody of Jumanji. All AND I MEAN ALL of the characters in Jhonen Vasquez's head come out and attack the world via an evil, evil game. Oh my God. It's so horrible.
1. Beginning

Jhomanji

This story is beta'd by… I forgot. It was a year ago, and my brain has degenerated into a slobbering mass of gooey pink since then due to a healthy mix of candy and heroin. If you are the beta-er of this story, please tell me so I can credit you.

This is a really boring preview of a story I've been working on for a very long time. I'm updating it now because, _muahahaha_, I haven't updated in about, oh, 2,500,000 years, give or take a minute. It's funny, that red squiggly line just appeared under the _muahahaha _and thought I had misspelled marijuana. And that's funny because it's marijuana.

…don't do marijuana.

So anyway! Enjoy. Or don't. You probably won't, the intro to this story is excruciatingly boring, along with the next five chapters after that. But THEN IT GETS SEXY HOTTNESS BUYEAH!1!11!1112!!!! –is dead now-

Disclaimer: I don't own Invader Zim or JTHM.

Chapter One

It was 1869. They had driven their horse as far as they could. They were in the middle of a wood they didn't even know the name of. They didn't bother thinking about how they were ever going to get out of there, because only one thing was on their minds.

The two boys stopped their horse at the top of a hill and got out the shovels they had brought with them. Dragging the shovels over to a spot next to a tree, they began to dig the deepest hole they'd ever dug. Sweat dripped from their bodies. By the time they were done, their clothes were coated in dirt and their limbs were aching. But they ignored the pain. They had a job to do.

Lifting their lanterns, the brothers walked back to their horse. They lifted the sheet concealing _it_. A chest, padlocked a thousand times at least.

Bessie, the horse, snorted. Almost as if it sensed their fear. A wolf howled and made one of the boys jump. Terror pounded through his veins. It was happening again. He just knew it.

"Don't worry, it's just a pack of wolves. Come on. We're almost rid of it," his brother reassured him.

The other boy sighed. It was true. After all, they weren't playing anymore. It couldn't do anything to them... right?

They carried the bulky trunk all the way over to the hole they dug. They set it in and began to fill it back up with dirt.

One of the boys stopped suddenly, eyes wide. "Do you hear that?"

The other boy's heart clenched in fear. "Just keep burying it, Benjamin. It's just trying to get you to stop burying it."

Not completely reassured, Benjamin continued dumping dirt back on top of the chest.

But then it got louder.

The noise was a rhythm. A deathly, futuristic war hymn from HELL, and it was getting _louder_. **BUDDUH DUM DUM DUM BUDDUH DUM DUM DUM BUDDUH DUM DUM DUM DUM DUM DUH**—

Benjamin freaked. "CALEB, IT'S AFTER ME!" In his desperate struggle to get away, Benjamin fell in the hole. Now he was _really_ screaming.

"Grab on!"

Benjamin reached desperately for his brother's hand as he pulled him up. But as soon as he was on the ground again, he tried to scamper away. "RUN! RUN!!"

But Caleb grabbed him before he could get too far. "No, Benjamin." He said seriously. "We have to finish this. Come on. Help me bury it."

Benjamin looked up at his older brother in fear. "What if someone digs it up?"

Caleb suddenly became very grave. "_May God have mercy on his soul."_

------------------------

Far, far away, in an alternate universe, that very same hymn was playing on someone's TV.

"OH MY GOD!!! IT'S ON!!!" screeched a psychotic thirteen-year-old wearing a GIR T-shirt. And slippers. And underwear.

"YAAAAAAAAAH!!!" yelled her best friend who had just smashed herself into the living room, nearly humping the TV screen. "My life is NOW COMPLETE!!"

"How could ANYTHING bad ever come from the Invader Zim theme song? It is like seriously the only one good wholesome thing that ever went right in this world."

"I know, right?!"


	2. Alan

A/N: I wasn't going to update this, but I got ten reviews on the first chapter so I thought, what the hell. But I'm warning you.

THIS CHAPTER IS BORING. IT IS MADE OF BORING. IT THRIVES IN ITS OWN SHITTY EXCESS BORING GOO. IT'S BORING.

The reason for this is the exposition in the movie which no one cares about. I'm trying to get these chapters over with as fast as possible because GODDAMNIT ALL THE BORING. But every chapter I update with will have the awesome power of Jhonen in it, though. Yes.

Beta equals Androgynous Napkin.

Author equals Your Mom.

I don't own anything except all the nothing that I do own. I treasure my nothing greatly.

CHAPTER 2

_A hundred years later…_

_Brantford, New Hampshire, 1969_

A typical day in the life of Alan Parish. Get up, get dressed. Go outside and face the world. Be in a polite disposition to everyone that passes you. Hi, Miss Magruder. Hey Frank. Thanks, Bill. Run from bullies.

"GET HIM!!"

"Prepare to die, Parish!"

Alan screamed and bolted in the opposite direction as fast as he could. Another typical day.

"Hey Parish, what's the rush?" One of the boys taunted him as they gnawed at his heels. Alan knew why they hated him. They were jealous. How typical. His father was the owner of a famous shoe company, and he was probably the richest kid in town. So, naturally, he got beat up the most. Alan took a quick turn and headed for his father's place of work.

"He's goin' to his dad's factory!"

"Alan wants his DADDY now!"

Alan slammed the factory door shut just in time.

The lead bully smirked. "Go ahead, Parish. Run to daddy._ We'll be waiting._" Most people would comment on how ridiculous and corny that just sounded, but Alan is a pussy, so he just got a bit paler and locked the door.

Needing to do something while he waited for the bullies to get bored and walk off, Alan decided to walk around the factory.

"Hi, Carl," He said off-handedly, recognizing one of his friends in the factory. He was an African American man who put the soles on shoes.

"Hey Alan, I gotta show you something. Come here!" he said eagerly, leading him to the side of the factory instrument. He opened a box, revealing a stylish, new pair of shoes. Alan gaped. Carl grinned, pleased at the reaction. "Now, I've been working on these for almost a year. I got an appointment this afternoon with your father to show him this." Carl held them out. "Go ahead. Take it." Alan did, gingerly. "…so whaddaya think? You think he'll like it?"

"What is it?"

"_What is it?_ Man, this is the _future_. If I can get Wilt Chamberlain to wear 'em…" He pointed matter-of-factly at the shoes. "I predict there'll be a pair of those in every closet in America. _These'll _gonna be the height of fashion." Carl looked down to see Alan looking a little… off. He glanced over his shoulder. "What's wrong?"

"Nothin'," Alan said hurriedly, placing the shoes down.

"ALAN!" a voice barked from behind Carl. "What are you doing here? I've told you before. This factory isn't a playground. It's dangerous."

Alan looked up pleadingly. "Dad, can I have a ride home?"

A look of understanding flashed across his father's stern face. "Look, Alan. Is Billy Jessup picking on you again? Son, you're going to have to face him sooner or later. If you're afraid of something, you've got to stand and face it. Now, run on along, son." He glanced at Carl. "Carl, you should know better than to let the boy in here."

"Sorry, sir." Alan glanced warilly at his father before walking a bit off to the side, letting his hands grace and poke ranom objects that had nothing to do with confronting his father.

Mr. Parish sniffed. "Now… what was it you wanted to show me?"

Carl's face brightened up immediately. "Just a minute, sir!" he turned around to get the shoes from Alan.

"What the devil—Get an extinguisher!" his father called. The shredder Alan was standing next to was smoking because Alan had placed the shoes… on… the shredder… Mr. Parish was fuming. "Who did this?!" he yelled. _"Well?!"_

Slowly, Carl came forward. "I did, sir."

---------------------------------

"Just because you're a Parish doesn't mean you can hang around my girlfriend."

Oh God, here we go again. Alan had barely been out of the factory six seconds before he was attacked once again by Billy Jessup. Alan turned around to face him and his gang. "We're just friends," he said.

"Not anymore. Get him!"

Before he could do anything, the herd of Billy KGBs had pounced on him. And before he knew it, Alan was on his bike and pedaling for the hills.

"Let's go!" he heard Billy yell, and he knew they were after him once again. He was heading for the construction site when he was knocked off his bike headfirst. When Alan opened his eyes, the bike was gone.

Alan got up and coughed. "Jerks!" he yelled feebly, trying to save what dignity he had left.

…budduh dum dum DUM BUDDUH DUM DUM DUM _BUDDUH DUM__** DUM DUM DUM**_** DUM DUH**

Alan's bruised ears perked at the weird war rhythm he heard coming from the construction site. Following his ears, he hunted the noise down towards the back of the site. The noise was deafening here.

_**DUM**_** DUM DUH**

Alan panted, his destination finally reached. It was a wall of dirt, reaching a height of about ten feet. The noise was coming from directly in center of the dirt. Alan couldn't help but wonder how odd it was that there weren't any construction workers anywhere. No matter. He got a shovel and started whacking at the dirt where the noise was coming from. To his surprise, a trunk fell out. The music stopped.

"_Wow…"_ he gasped. It was ancient and large, but not particularly heavy. The front was padlocked. Alan decided to use the shovel once again to pry open the lock.

"Neat!" Inside was a board game. Yes, a board game. This would have been a great disappointment for most people, what with the whole leading up tension and suspicion that it might be a portal to Neverland, but no. Not Alan. Perhaps he noticed the vague aura of evil and coolness coming from it. Perhaps he was just a dork. Alas, the building mysteriousness of it all!

Not sparing the game a more detailed look, Alan looked around quickly and ran off with the game under his arm.

-----------------------------------------

Finally, Alan was home in his mansion. He quietly snuck into the living room. His parents either didn't know he was home yet, or weren't home themselves. He decided to get a better look at the board game.

The top was very ornate—the coloring mainly consisting of black, white, and some darkish colors. Numerous block-like, demonic figures were carved into the stone and reaching towards the center, where there was a large, black _Z? _in raised wooden lettering on the top. It read Jhomanji on the sides. Alan was enticed by its strange, haunting quality. Opening the case delicately, Alan inspected its insides. The game's spaces crawled across the board like snakes, alternating between black and white, and then alternating from_ that_ to green and purple. At the very front of the board there was a kind of clear glass bulb that stuck out from the board, in which smoke seemed to be drifting.

Alan opened a compartment on the side to reveal some stone game tokens. He picked up a few and tossed them around in his hand. One was indigo and resembled a boy with glasses (hands in pockets and glaring), while the other being amethyst and in the shape of a distressed-looking female, holding a paintbrush.

"_Aaaallllaaan_… Are you home?"

Alan jumped, accidentally dropping the pieces onto the board. He barely even noticed them snap right side up and zoom over to the starting point.

He hurriedly put away the game and rushed to meet his mother. As soon as she saw him her mouth gaped.

"Oh, Alan, not again. Come on." She said, holding him. _Oh yeah…_ he thought. _I forgot my face was still bruised from the fight._

His mother sat him down in the dining hall and ordered him to eat his dinner. She told him she and his father would speak to him about this later.

------------------------------------------------------------------

"Hard work, determination, a cheerful outlook—attributes that have exemplified the Brantford spirit… since our forefathers have settled in this town. Despite the harshness of our native climate and granite of our soil… we have…"

"…Prospered."

Mr. Parrish grimaced. Mrs. Parrish straightened his tie in the mirror as he practiced his speech for the evening. "I knew the whole damn thing this morning," he pouted.

"And you'll know the whole _darn_ thing tonight," Mrs. Parrish corrected him.

He sighed. "Alright. Let's go."

Mrs. Parrish stopped him. "Sam. We have to talk to Alan."

Alan's father sighed. "Well, we're on our way…okay."

Mrs. Parrish gave him a quick squeeze before leading him into the dining hall.

Alan looked up from his food when he saw his parents enter. His mother walked over first, very serious.

"I told your father what you told me this morning. It wasn't just Billy Jessup."

Mr. Parrish looked apologetic. "Look, if I'd known that, Alan, I wouldn't have—"

"It's okay, Dad."

"…I want you to know that I am proud of you," he continued. "I mean, you faced them, even though you were outnumbered. And since you took it like a man… your mother and I have decided that you're ready to go… to the Cliffside School for Boys!" He finished with a giant grin on his face, as if Alan had won some great prize. He handed him a pamphlet.

"Congratulations, sweetheart." His mother smiled. Alan was horrified.

"You don't want me living here anymore?!"

His father's face fell. "Alan. It's always been the plan that you go to Cliffside when you were ready. I mean, Parrishes have been going to Cliffside ever since the thirties. Even your Uncle Skylar went there."

Mom decided to step in. "Look at this. Parrish Hall," she said, pointing to a place on the map part of the pamphlet.

"It's the main dormitory."

Alan was getting frustrated. His parents weren't listening. "Oh, this is _great,_" he said sarcastically. "Kids are on my case here because I'm a Parrish. Just wait till I'm living in a building named after me."

Mr. Parrish furrowed his brow. "It was named after my father."

"Good. Why don't _you_ live in it?"

His father suddenly rose. "I did! I wouldn't be who I am today if it weren't for my years there!"

Alan stood as well. "Maybe I don't wanna be who you are! Maybe I don't wanna be a Parrish!"

A dark look crossed Alan's father's face. "You won't be. Not till you start acting like one." He grabbed his stuff. "Get your coat!" he ordered Mrs. Parrish, and began to stomp out of the house.

"I guess I'm not ready for _Cliffside_ then!" Alan taunted after him.

"We're taking you there next Sunday! I don't want to hear another word about it!" His father yelled back, opening the door.

"YOU WON'T!" screamed Alan. "I'M NEVER TALKING TO YOU _AGAIN!_" he heard the door slam.

"Sam—" Mrs. Parrish pleaded.

"_Don't!_"

"Sam—"

"WHAT?!" Mr. Parrish barked.

"Nothing. Just…" She stopped when she saw the look on her husband's face, and that was the end of that.

---------------------------------------------------------

Alan was furious. He had officially decided to run away. He had marched upstairs to get his things when he heard the doorbell. Exasperated, he marched back down to see who it was. He practically ripped the door open, fully expecting to yell at the person on the other side. He was surprised to see something else.

"Sarah Whittle!" he gasped. "What are _you_ doing here?"

The pretty blond girl motioned to the bike she was holding. "I brought your bike back."

"You didn't have to," Alan responded defensively. "I was going over to Billy's to get it myself."

Sarah looked sad. "I _told_ Billy to stop picking on you." Sarah Whittle was dating Billy. She was always telling him to stop being so mean to Alan because she was friends with him. As if it actually did anything.

Alan laughed. "You shouldn't waste your breath. We'll talk about this later." He was about to shut the door when he heard it again. The haunting, alien war hymn. It was starting again.

Sarah looked fearful. "What was that?" she whispered.

Alan brightened up. "You heard it too?" Good, confirmation he wasn't crazy.

Sarah looked indignant. "Of course I heard it."

Alan got excited and grabbed her arm. "Come on. I found this weird game in the factory, you've gotta see it."

Sarah looked interested as she followed him to the living room. "A game?"

Alan grinned. _"Jhomanji."_

Once in the attic, he picked it up off the ground and set it on a table. He opened it to show Sarah. "Cool, huh?"

Sarah sniffed, but seemed interested. "How do you play?"

"Hm," Alan muttered lightly. "I don't know."

"Well there's got to be instructions," Sarah assumed. "All games have instructions."

"Oh! Here they are," Alan commented. "They're on the other side of the front." He began to read. "Jhomanji: A game for those who seek to find… a way to leave their world behind. Roll the dice to move the token, doubles gets another turn. First player to reach the end wins. Sounds easy enough." He picks up the dice and hands them to Sarah. "Wanna play?"

Sarah took the dice and scoffed. "I quit playing board games _five years_ ago." She then dropped the dice like dead mice onto the board, probably to add to effect.

The purple girl token began to move.

Alan saw this and froze, eyes wide with shock. "S—Sarah…!"

She looked too and imitated his response. Then she shook her head. "It's got to be magnetized or something." But then she saw words forming in the glass sphere in the center of the game. "Alan, look!"

Smoke appeared and swiveled around until it was completely black. Then white words began to form over it, typewriter-style and with the "e's" backwards. Swallowing rocks, Sarah began to read, "These bunnies are creepy without a doubt. Harmless, though? It's time to find out."

They heard faint screeching noises coming from the fireplace.

"What was that?!" Sarah squeaked.

"I don't know."

The screeching got louder.

"Put it away, Alan!" she said hurriedly.

"Okay," Alan obeyed without question. Just then, the grandfather clock stuck eight, and, scared out of his wits, Alan accidentally dropped the dice. It was a five. The blue boy token began to progress across the board. More smoke began to form. "Oh, _no_. The game thinks I rolled!"

Sarah turned around frantically. "What do you mean, 'the game thinks'?!" But Alan was already reading the words that were forming.

This time, they were purple on a green background, and appeared first in a foreign, alien type before being translated into English. "In the test lab you must wait until the dice read five or eight."

Sarah looked worried. "What's that mean?"

Alan didn't get a chance to answer, because just then his face began to get sucked into the game. Sarah began to scream, jumping up from the table and backing away. "_OH MY GOD!!!"_

Alan's entire body began to spin and twist like a cyclone made of taffy as it was pulled into the center of the game. Alan's last words were, "ROLL THE DICE!"

Then Sarah heard wings moving in the fireplace. She froze up, shivering. The squeaking was getting louder…

And then a thousand legless, flying bunnies shot out of the fireplace.

"Ho-ly _CRAP!_" she shrieked, before bolting to the door. Whatever she had expected to come out of that fireplace, it wasn't that.

And then Sarah ran home screaming at the top of her lungs while trying to keep legless, flying bunnies from eating her flesh.


	3. Noise

CHAPTER 3

_Twenty-six years later (1995)…_

A car and a moving truck were driving through the beaten town of Brantford, New Hampshire. The town, which at one time may had been pleasant enough, was now a reeking cesspool of the human stupid. Boarded up businesses and graffiti passed the car and moving truck as they drove, as well as homelessness and their smell of shit.

"…Well," said a middle-aged woman as she looked out the window of her car. "I think a bed and breakfast is_ just_ what this town needs."

The two vehicles pulled up to a large, empty Victorian house, that seemed as if it had once had been a great mansion but now was just some big creepy house that neighborhood kids typically told their friends that it was filled with flesh-eating zombies and some guy who liked to punch babies.

A realtor stepped out of the car first, helping out the rest; a young blond girl around the age of twelve and her smaller younger brother, and the over enthusiastic woman. Stepping inside the house, the realtor gestured at the house's insides. "Well," she said smiling lightly, "it's pretty hard to pass up, especially full of furniture." The house had come with the furniture in it as well, free of charge. Any adult would call this a home run. Anyone else would call it proof of zombies and baby-kickers.

The other woman twirled around. "Oh, boy!" she sighed. "I keep forgetting how big this place is. Judy, Peter, come look at this." The two siblings that had been sulking in a corner slunk over. "I'm gonna put a reception area over here and a bar over here in the parlor!" The kids did not look impressed.

The realtor smiled. "That sounds lovely. I'm sure you and your kids are gonna be very happy here."

"…Oh." A look crossed the other woman's face, and she turned around to see if the boy and girl had wandered off again (which they had) and leaned in to talk quietly to the estate agent. "Well, actually, they're my late brother's. He and his wife passed away just last winter." The realtor made a noise of understanding, the one typically used when trying to sound sympathetic and kind but usually just makes you sound like that noisy next door neighbor that went through your trash last week and is now trying to make up for it though sympathetic noises.

The girl snorted off in a corner.

The woman took this as a key to motion the children back over. "Is this something, or what?" she asked enthusiastically.

"It sure is," the girl replied in a dull voice, barely looking around.

The real estate agent ignored this failure to attach to the girl and turned to her brother instead. She grinned a wide, fake smile to the silent boy beside his sister. "So what do _you_ think young man? Is it big enough for you?"

The boy just looked at her.

His sister took this as an opportunity to butt in. "Peter hasn't spoken a word since it happened," she said.

The estate woman made a high little gasp noise and put her hand on her mouth. "Oh, my! I'm so sorry. How _terribly_ awful." The girl grinned. Then she began to soulfully trudge around the woman.

"It's okay," she said in a deep theatrical voice. "We barely even knew our parents." She sighed deeply. "They were always away—skiing in Saint Moritz, gambling in Monte Carlo…" she grinned again. "…Seafaring in darkest Africa." A sniff managed to escape her. "We didn't even know if they loved us. But when the sheik's yacht went down, well… they managed to write us a really beautiful good-bye note… that was found floating in a champagne bottle among the debris."

The awkward silence that followed this was priceless.

"…Excuse me." The two kids' guardian took the estate agent aside. "They were very devoted parents. It was a car crash in Canada."

The agent furrowed her eyebrows. "Ah."

_Later that day…_

"So you'll send me those Escrow papers?"

"First thing tomorrow."

And with that, they began to move in.

In the process of moving in, naturally, the two siblings also felt the duty of exploring the house fall upon their shoulders. They had opened all doors, flung ancient valuables, and set fire to most things on the first two levels. Now all that was left was the attic. Judy shook the doorknob, but was disappointed to find that it was locked. She ran off to get Nora in case she had the keys, leaving Peter in the dust.

Unfortunately, Nora wasn't much help for this one.

"Hmm. I'll have to get the locksmith for this one. Peter, pick up your toys please."

When the locksmith came, he practically had to bulldoze the attic over. It was padlocked with a variety of things that probably shouldn't have been allowed by this turn of the century. Nora took a quick peek inside, confirmed there weren't any axe murderers and went on. They didn't see the attic again until half an hour later.

"Peter," she gasped, holding up an enormous luggage piece, "take this suitcase to the attic. Then we can all have ice cream, yeah?"

Peter held out his arms, bracing himself for the backbreaking crap-bag. The suitcase was placed in his arms, Peter all the time wincing. He then stumbled his way throughout the house, looking for the attic. He hand reached out blindly at the top floor, fumbling with a doorknob in its extreme complexity.

Finally managing to enter the attic, Peter decided to look. He set down the suitcase and put his hands in his pockets, peering warily. It was a small attic, not really worthy of the house or the mystifying aura that accompanied it. There was a window right across the room, and on the right wall were shelves and shelves worth of useless crap. He was just about to leave when he heard something beating in the distance.

The distance, as in the piles-of-crap-shelves placed near the side walls.

Beating in the distance, as in a hypnotic, alien pulse, drawing him closer… Closer…

A furious beating of wings, causing Peter to stumble, his entire being drawn unwillingly into those soulless, dull eyes, that some unholy being had placed on that legless body straight from hell.

"_AAAAAAAAAAAH!!!"_

"What? What is it?" called Nora from downstairs. Judy dropped the packaging box dramatically.

"I'm going to a motel."

Nora threw her hands up into the air. "Oh, for heaven's sake!"

---------------

"I don't see any guano."

The man waved his flashlight carelessly over the bookcases.

Judy raised an irritated eyebrow. "This is a _legless_, flying BUNNY we're talking about here, right? Not a bat. I don't even think it has a butthole."

The man lowered his flashlight. "No butthole, eh?" He responded darkly. "The last time I heard about _those_ kind of bunnies…" He walked off to the window absent-mindedly, or possibly just for the mood. Judy followed him. "Some kid said she saw those back in the 60's, but we don't get bunnies like that in new England. Especially since they don't exist."

"But that's what he saw!"

"Well, whatever it was… it's gone now." The guy turned around and shrugged. "Legless flying bunnies with no buttholes aren't what I'd worry about in this house anyways."

Judy's interest perked, sensing gossip. "What would you worry about?"

"Well, personally, I wouldn't wanna live in a house where someone was murdered."

Judy grinned. "Murdered?"

The man nodded solemnly, enjoying the attention. "Yep. Little Alan Parrish. I say his father did it. There's a thousand and one places he could have hid the body in this house." He turned around completely, facing Judy. "Especially if he chopped it up first."

"Hey, up there! You kids don't wanna be late for your first day of school!" called an irritatingly familiar voice of Judy from downstairs.

The exterminator excused himself from the attic. "Not a bunny in sight, Ma'am."

Nora came up with Peter beside her.

"You hear that?" Nora said warmly, grasping Peter warmly. "There is nothing to be afraid of in this house."

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"I can _not_ believe I have to see your principle after the first day."

It was dinner, a stare down. Both children looked wordlessly at their food. Disappointment hung in the air like a wet towel. "What am I gonna do?" she asked this to both herself and Judy, the culprit. An exasperated sigh escaped Nora's lips. "Let's just relax and finish our dinner and talk about something else."

This lasted for about twelve seconds.

"Well, we found out why you got the house so cheap." Nora looked up from her food, scowling, daring her to go on. Judy was unfazed. "Twenty-six years ago, a kid named Alan Parrish used to live here. Then one day, he just disappeared…" Judy took another bite of food. "…'cause his parents chopped him up in little pieces and hid him in the walls."

Nora slammed down her fork. "Okay, that's it. I am _sick_ and _tired_ of your lies, young lady. You're grounded."

Judy stood quickly, pushing back her chair and staring her down. "_Fine._ There's nowhere to go in this _stupid_ town anyway." She turned with a flourish and headed upstairs.

"And just for your information," she added, pausing at the top of the staircase, "that _wasn't_ a lie."

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It was morning. Peter and a disgruntled Judy were getting ready for their second day of school. Judy was having trouble finding her left shoe. After making sure it wasn't in her room, her bathroom, and the washroom, she decided it must be somewhere upstairs.

_Dumma dum dum dum dumma dum dum dum…_

She perked her ears. Judy swore she had just heard something coming from the attic. She began to tiptoe towards the sound.

_Dumma dum dum dum dumma—_

Someone touched her shoulder.

Judy zipped around, fists ready to pummel the first thing in sight.

It was Peter. Judy sighed, lowering her fists. She had just been inches away from the attic. "Did you hear anything a little while ago?"

"Do you miss Mom and Dad?"

An odd response to the question, but a response nonetheless. "No."

"Liar." Peter moved up next to her, silently joining Judy in her quest for the missing shoe. "If you don't cut that out, they're gonna send you to a shrink."

"Where do you think they're gonna send you if you don't start talking?" she responded curtly. She didn't want to talk about this. Nora hurried out of her bedroom and head for the door. She tossed Judy a shoe.

"If I get held up at the permit office, I'll give you a call." She glanced at her watch. "School bus should be here any minute. You guys still have your house keys?"

_Dumma dum dum dum…_

"You guys listening to me?"

_Dumma dum dum dum…_

"Hello?"

_dum dum dum dum dum dum…_

"_Hello?_"

"What?"

Peter and Judy snapped out of their trance, the beating still ringing in their ears. Nora gave them a concerned look.

"Maybe I should wait with you until the bus comes. Did your parents used to put you on the bus?"

Judy shook her head quickly. "No, no."

"Are you sure? I could drop you off."

Judy laughed a bit too loudly. "No, don't worry about us. The bus'll be here any minute."

Nora still looked concerned. "Okay. Please be good today."

As soon as Nora had safely left the house, Peter turned to Judy. "You _do_ hear it."

"Hear what?" Judy lied, turning away.

_DUMMA DUM DUM DUM DUMMA—_

Both children rushed upstairs, towards the source.


	4. Game

I'm sending this before my beta finishes editing it, who is Androgynous Napkin by the way, because I've worked really hard on this chapter and it's been sitting in my computer for way too long not being shared WITH THE WORLD. Will update when edited.

I own nothing.

WARNING—THE FOLLOWING CHAPTER IS MOTHERFUCKING BADASS

Judy and Peter rushed upstairs, straight to the attic. The thumping noise was nearly in sync with their heartbeats now. And it was getting louder.

"Where's it coming from?" Judy called over the ruckus. Peter wordlessly went for the box he'd seen earlier. The instant his fingers touched it, the banging stopped.

Peter examined it. It appeared to be an intricate board game, engraved sharply with images neither of them recognized, and burnt harshly in a language they didn't understand. The most interesting, though, was the fact that the words "Jhomanji" were planted so violently in the center.

"Wow."

"Let's bring it over here," Judy called, motioning to the ground.

Peter opened it up on the ground, inspecting every inch. It was a board game, and the token path winded snake-like around the board. The squares followed a strange pattern of color scheme: white, green, black, purple, red. In the center was an orb, glazed over with mist. There were four pieces, and two of them were already on the board. One of them was amethyst, and resembled a pigtailed woman holding a can of mace. The other one was turquoise, and was carved into the shape of a boy with an enormous scythe-thing coming out of his head. Judy reached out for the boy.

"Weird," she commented, pulling back her arm. "They're stuck."

Peter continued his inspection of the game. He realized that the instructions were on the back of the front cover, and began to read. "'Jhomanji. A game for those who seek to find a way to leave their world behind.'" He looked up. "You roll the dice to move your token. Doubles gets another turn. The first player to reach the end wins."

Awkwardly, Peter reached for the two unstuck tokens, an emerald bipedal bug and a white pebble in the shape of a child with a teddy bear. But before he could put them to the board, they flew from his hand and placed themselves, upright, at the start.

Peter looked over at Judy, his hand still hovering in a cupped position over the game.

"It's gotta be microchips or something," Judy said, grasping desperately for a solution.

"…you go first," Peter muttered.

Judy looked at him silently for a moment before nodding her head and squeaking, "Okay!" Her voice an octave higher than usual.

She picked up the dice and slowly shook them in her hand before dropping the dice on the board.

"Six."

The pebble token began to move by itself across the board. The misty orb in the center began to become clearer and words formed, in some sort of purple foreign language. Those were translated, perhaps replaced seconds later by English.

Peter leaned forward and read the inscription aloud. "The fiend that awaits you is more than it looks, it has teeth and claws in its crannies and nooks."

Judy tilted her head. "What?" she asked, furrowing her eyebrows. Just then, they heard a noise behind the bookshelf. Out waddled three babies.

Judy gasped. "What are these _babies_ doing here? How long have they been here?" she reached out to one of them. "Ooooh, come here. Everything's gonna be—"

Green ooze lapped over the baby's eyelids as the baby foamed at the mouth, growing vicious talons and claws. It hissed and lashed out, Judy retracting her arm just in time. The other babies began to transform as well.

Judy started to scream.

Judy ran to the side as the babies lunged foreward, attempting to rip them apart.

Peter jumped up between them to defend her and give her some time to find a weapon. The babies, or whatever they were, had grown fangs and claws, indistinguishable extensions of their own skin. Hisses and groans of the damned flowing from the creature's lips.

"You cannot stop us…" Peter saw the babies's lips move, yet the industrialized drone seemed to be coming from all around him. The baby stood on his hind legs and moved toward his companions. Its skin became elastic, and wrapped its self into the other babies' bodies, warping their figures to become one, lethal terror…

Judy jumped in front of them and whacked the trio out the window with a large tennis racket, a loud CRASH! echoing as their bodies broke the glass. Strands of flesh and blood hung from the remaining window pieces.

Hyperventilating, both children flopped on the floor. The distant sounds of screaming were in the background.

Peter sat up. He rolled the dice.

"Don't!" Judy tried to stop him, but the deed had already been done. He'd gotten snake eyes.

Once again, the orb in the center of the board became fogged, and words formed. Yet, unlike the previous letter, they appeared in English right out. Also, the words seemed to be scratched forcefully and madly into the board, in all capital letters.

Judy took it upon herself to read. "This will not be an easy mission…" she paused to glance at the broken window and gulp. "…a noodle will slow the expedition."

Something crashed in the kitchen.

Both children turned their heads so quickly you could hear them snap. "What was that?" Peter asked tentatively.

"YOU GODDAMN MOTHINGFUCKING REMOTE CONTROL PENIS-FUCK!"

The children's eyes were popping out of their heads.

"AND YOU! PEPTOBISMAL BUNNY! _DON'T THINK YOU CAN GET OUT OF CRAWLING INTO MY VAGINA! _FUCK!"

"I… I think a homeless man broke in." Judy said. Another crash. It sounded like a dish.

"We probably need to check on it, right?" Peter asked. Another crash, this time accompanied by _FUCKING COMTEMPORARY JAZZ! MENSTRAL CRAMPS AND WHATNOT!!_

Slowly, they began to descend down to the kitchen.

Their minds practically exploded at what they found at the foot of the stairs. It was a living, breathing, stick figure, opening counters and throwing dishes. It seemed hastily drawn, with sticks of hair coming out of its head, with one central curly hair, like on one the more commonly drawn versions of baby. It's eyes were blocks of scribble, as were it's feet. Judy and Peter's hearts were pumping so hard in their heads they could practically feel their ears bleeding. The thing turned around.

"Kitty?"

Peter found it in him to clear his throat. "Uh, you—"

"ARE A STRAWBERRY-GLAZED FRUIT SALAD! CLEAR YOUR BOWELS! DON'T FORGET TO RINSE! MOTHERFUCKING TITTY-FUCK!" The thing flailed it's arms and spat, one inch away from the children's faces. They might have noticed that with every movement it was making, the ink marks that seemed to make up it's body moved as well, as if it was being it the progress of being drawn sloppily for an animation that no one would ever see. They might have noticed this, but at the moment they were too busy shitting their pants.

The stick figure grabbed a seemingly random bucket and turned it over. Jumping atop his pedestal, the stick started to preach. "SO YOU THINK YOU'RE HOT DOG? THE BANNANA ON THE PINE-STICK? THE FUCK IN THE GORILLA? DO YOU? WELL, LET ME TEACH YOU A THING OR TWO ABOUT DESK POLOTICS…" Unnoticed to Peter and the stick-thing, Judy was inching towards the place in the kitchen where the family gun was hidden. The stick knelt down and grabbed hold of Peter's head. "IT'S ALL A BUNCH OF _AAAAANNNNNNNNUUUUUUUSSSSSSSSSS!!!_"

BANG!

The thing lay on the ground. Dead. Bleeding from a hole in it's head. Judy stood above him, shaking, holding the smoking gun.

"OH MY GOD!" Peter shrieked in his preadolescent voice. "YOU KILLED IT! YOU KILLED IT!"

"No I didn't! No I didn't! I didn't!" Judy blabbered. "It was attacking you! I didn't! It's—it's not even real! So what? It was attacking you! What else was there do? Oh God!"

"YOU KILLED IT! RIGHT HERE! WITH A GUN! YOU!"

"IT'S NOT REAL! Look!" Judy pointed to the stick's eyes, which had turned into comically Xs that usually represented death. "It's just a drawing! It's just a moving drawing!"

"IT'S NOT MOVING _ANYMORE!_"

"SHUT UP! We've got to do something about the body."

"YOU KILLED IT!"

"Listen! Just _listen_ to me." Judy wringed her hands and walked back and forth. "Okay, listen. Listen. I bet that… _thing_ came from the game. The babies too. So they aren't real. A hallucination. Right? So this isn't real. We're ok. It's just that… Aunt Nora will be unhappy about the mess. Even though it's not real. You know. So… uh, we just gotta put it somewhere else. Okay?"

Peter was starting to calm down. Or catatonic. There was blood all over his face. Judy gave him a wet rag, totally focused now. "You see that forest across the street? We'll put it there. We can just carry it, it looks like a red and white balloon, you can't even see the limbs. Peter?"

Peter's eyes were glazed over. Judy grabbed him and shook him a little. "IT'S. JUST. A. GAME. Just a game. I mean, We can even stop it at any time, right? And when we do, all this stuff will probably just go away." Someone screamed in the distance, followed by the sound of ripping flesh. "So we might as well do this before we're done."

Peter was looking at the ground. He nodded.

"Good." Judy picked up head and slung it over her shoulder. "Get the legs."

In five minutes they were outside. Just as Judy had predicated, no one gave them a second glance. There weren't even any cars to stop them crossing the road. Judy motioned for Peter to stand sideways across from her. "On three," she said., beginning to swing. "One… Two… THREE!" The deed was done will a dull thud in the distance. Judy wiped her hands off on her shirt. "Ew." They went back inside.

Peter cleared his throat, calling attention to his sister. "Just for the record…" he said slowly. "That looked nothing like a noodle."

-----------------

After cleaning the kitchen, Judy and Peter were once again sitting around the game. Judy began to reach for the dice, until Peter interrupted.

"Uh-oh. I didn't see this part." He handed his sister the Jhomanji cover. Cautious, Judy took it, as if it was infested with a fatal disease. On the bottom of the directions on the inside cover was a tiny message.

"Adventurers beware." Judy looked up, worried. Her shirt was drenched in blood. "Adventurers beware. Do not begin unless you intend to finish. The exciting consequences of the game will vanish… only when a player has reached Jhomanji and called out its name."

"Okay, that's it." Peter said. "Put it away."

"Wait!" Judy replied desperately, latching onto the game. "The instructions say if we finish the game, It'll all go away." Then she gave him a look. "We better do it, or Aunt Nora's gonna pitch a fit."

Peter looked away.

"We should get through it quickly," she continued. "I mean, there's no skill involved."

Peter was silent for a long time. Then he handed Judy the dice.

Judy pushed them back. "No, you rolled doubles. You get another turn." Peter looked at the dice in his hand as if he were holding women's underwear. "ROLL!" Judy hit Peter's hand, forcing it to open on the board.

The dice moved slowly through time, rolling over and over.

Then they stopped.

"Five." Peter leaned foreword, reading the message that formed in the central orb. The words were once again in the alien, purple-green font. "A lion will chase you until you are worn, but hell hath no fury like a little girl's scorn."

Judy and Peter looked up at the same time. "I don't like the sound of that."

Something crashed nearby. Suddenly, the attic seemed considerably darker and scarier.

"Judy," Peter whispered. "I think someone's in there."

Two more loud, forceful crashes followed this, accompanied by a low octave growl that shook the whole house. Then something hit the wall. Hard. Plaster fell a bit from the ceiling.

"It's not real, Peter," Judy whispered. "It's a hallucination."

The door to the attic flew open on its own, revealing the entire house darkened with an unseen presence. The scent of violence lingered in the air. Footsteps.

Then, just when the feeling of overwhelming doom was about to envelope them, something emerged.

Fire shot out of walls, the thing ascended and hovered above them, powered by its own unspeakable rage. A single beam of light gathered lightly like a blanket, illuminating the monster.

Jagged locks of esoteric purple framed its face, a terrible thing that growled and bared its teeth, eyes hid in shadow. A thin body stood slowly, clenching its fists. It was adorned with a black dress and skull pendant. Only by this could they discern its gender.

Then she opened her eyes. Fire exploded from cracks in the floor, creating a volcano-like effect that was accompanied by the shrill screaming that erupted from this devil that bled fire.

"WHERE…" this voice came not only from her demented mouth as unhinged eyeballs rolled in their socks madly, but echoed violently from every orifice in the room.

…IS MY _GAMESLAVE?!"_

The windows rattled with her deranged longing, their hinges reaching out to find the culprit of the missing "Gameslave".

Her eyes stopped rolling and focused themselves on the closest living object. The pupils shrunk at the sight of Judy and Peter, and her eyes became wide as saucers. Mild drool and foam dripped from her mouth. All other light was sucked away like the girl's heart was the center of a black hole. "YOU…"

That is when Judy decided it was a good time to go. Without saying a word she grabbed her brother and sprinted out of the attic. A grotesque howl followed them out, and hands reached out to grab their hair.

Judy responded to this immediately with a good kick to her stomach, and escaped to the stairs. Peter pushed her back into the attic and locked the door. For the first time since they moved there, Judy loathed the house's sheer vastness.

When they finally reached the bottom, the girl's screams had faded. Judy and Peter grinned at each other and collapsed on the ground, gasping.

"Okay…that was weird," Peter said finally. "By the way, what's a—" He froze. The girl was standing eight feet away, facing them, head bowed. Darkness began to seep into the atmosphere once again.

She grabbed a bottle from the nearest table and smashed the end of it, now a deadly weapon. She grabbed both before either could utter a scream, and raised the bottle above her.

"HEY, BITCH!" The girl halted, slowly turning her head towards the offending noise. A low rumble emitted from her throat, the hair on the back of her neck raised. Peter and Judy looked around wildly, but saw nothing. The looming darkness had not yet faded.

The girl peered into said darkness, baring her teeth.

"LOOKING FOR THIS?" The message was closely followed by a metal clang.

The effect was instantaneous—the girl dropped both children and rushed towards the metal thing, which turned out to be some sort of retro Gameboy. The darkness evaporated immediately, And in the center of shattered glass sat a little girl, no older than eight years old, playing some game, not paying attention to anyone else. Behind her was a man neither person had seen before.

He grinned. "I'm back."


End file.
